


The Pitts

by htebazytook



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Bathroom Sex, CMU, First Time, Humor, M/M, Pittsburgh, Romance, Slash, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-04
Updated: 2009-10-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 18:38:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/htebazytook/pseuds/htebazytook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris doesn't see what's so bad about Zach's home town.  (This fic was sponsored by Starbucks.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pitts

**Title:** The Pitts  
 **Author:** [](http://htebazytook.livejournal.com/profile)[**htebazytook**](http://htebazytook.livejournal.com/)  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Disclaimer:** <\--  
 **Pairing:** Zach/Chris  
 **Author's Notes:** Chris doesn't see what's so bad about Zach's home town. (This fic was sponsored by Starbucks.)

 

 

"So, what's going on in Pittsburgh this time of year?" Chris asks cheerfully.

Zach doesn't seem to hear him, doesn't look up from his clearly boring newspaper until Chris elbows him. I mean, a _newspaper_? Seriously?

"Hey, cut it out," Zach murmurs, rubs at his side and shifts in the deck chair. "I dunno, the Steelers or something."

"Pittsburgh has a _football_ team?" Chris gasps.

Zach doesn't give a shit about Chris's theatrics, spares a moment to roll his eyes before going back to his paper.

"Oh come on, man. Pittsburgh can't be as lame as you say it is. It just can't. Didn't seem that bad when I was filming there." He sits up straighter, warming to his topic. "I mean, how would you know anyway? You're biased."

Zach sighs and puts down the stupid paper deliberately, reminds Chris uncomfortably of his dad. "Unfortunately, I did live there for most of my life, but according to you, this means I can't have an objective opinion one way or the other." Snide.

"It does!"

"I mean, what do you want from me, Chris? Proof?"

Chris opens his mouth, closes it again, thinks about it.

"You want proof?" Zach repeats, edge of bitchiness in there. Zach's snobbery is always agitated and unexpected whenever it comes out to play.

"Yeah, actually." Chris raises his eyebrows, challenging.

"Fine, then we're going to the damn 'Burgh."

Chris laughs. "Oh really? When?"

"Fucked if I know but dammit I will drag you to a Pittsburgh vacation at the earliest opportunity and you won't like it one bit. And that's a promise. Dammit," he adds, goes huffily back to his paper.

Chris grins.

*

"What an abominable excuse for a city," Chris says sarcastically. "All these trees and smiling faces and colorful buses."

Zach rolls his eyes. "Don't make me take you to the ghetto."

Chris frowns. "You mean the cultural center they based 'Hill Street Blues' on?" You'd better believe Chris did some research in preparation.

Zach gets a panicked look on his face but covers it quick. ". . . Maybe."

"Ha."

It's nicely chilly and autumnal. Quiet. Just little throngs of college kids roaming the streets, radiating optimism and promise. It's clearly pissing Zach off though—he's sighing pointedly at ever shorter intervals.

Chris leans into Zach to break him out of his grumpy trance and Zach starts and whips his head around a little bit dramatically. It gets him to laugh though. "Jeez," Zach says, nudges Chris back.

Just then a bubbly pair of students runs obliviously into them and Zach goes back to seething, a sentiment which is particularly effective when communicated through Zach's eyebrows. The kids flee.

"So how _did_ you make it through your undergrad without going on a homicidal rampage?"

" _Well_ , the only reasonable explanation is that I'm channeling my rage into acting and carrying out these rampages you speak of on primetime television but _anyway_ I didn't go to Pitt. CMU's up the hill."

" _Another_ hill? What the fuck."

"Mmhm, not as charming as it sounds, is it?"

*

They're walking by Zach's high school. The outside of it looks like Chris would expect a private Catholic school to look—castley and generally reminding him of Dead Poets Society.

However, there's also this random dinosaur statue chilling out in the grass, and it's dressed, and it's all very confusing—

"Ah, yes," Zach says. "Two things going on here you should know—number one, Pittsburgh? Home of Mr Rogers. Number two, well, we have like one _actual_ dinosaur skeleton at the museum or something, hence the statues. No, seriously."

Chris considers the statue. "I dunno, guess I just never saw Mr Rogers as a dinosaur," he shrugs.

"But yeah," Zach says after a minute. "Catholic school isn't all it's cracked up to be."

"No? Look at you!"

"Well, Catholic schoolboys _are_." Zach gestures to himself, winks.

Chris immediately pictures Zach in a pleated skirt and pigtails, tells him so. Zach flutters his eyelashes and they quickly dissolve into laughter, using each other for support. Zach's hand warm on his shoulder and his laughter puffing tangibly over Chris's skin.

*

"There's literally nothing dahntan that isn't vacated or pretentious as shit so—"

"'Dahntan'? Where's that?"

"Where all the lights are bright."

Chris frowns. " _Down_ town?"

"Waiting for you tonight," Zach deadpans.

"Dude, shut up."

*

They're walking on Carnegie Mellon's campus and talking about the architecture—well, Zach's talking. Animatedly with his hands, and his voice all low and confidential.

"Greek influences and—oh what the hell?" Zach stops short, staring at the bumper sticker on a parked car.

_This is America—speak English!_

" _See?_ " Zach explodes. "This kind of shit, this is the shit I'm talking about in fucking lame-ass Pittsburgh and it's fucking rednecks I mean this is the middle of the goddamn city for fuck's sake, this is fucking CMU land where half the kids are Indian or Asian. It's not like that statement even makes _any sense whatsoever_ , it's not _England_ I mean seriously? Seriously?"

Zach's flushed and breathing hard, eyes flashing, gesturing like his life depends on it now, and he turns all that intensity on Chris after he's finished ranting. "Shit, sorry. I'm a little on edge." Zach's thoroughly on edge, the kind of energy that's palpable and dark and intoxicating on him.

"It's okay," Chris manages, forgets what Zach even said. "Hey, come on." He slides his arm over Zach's shoulders, bone and heat and the short hairs at the back of his neck. "At least there's no paparazzi here, you gotta admit that's a plus."

Zach sighs, concedes, shrugs so more of Chris is touching him.

*

They go to the museum and see the one actual dinosaur skeleton. Zach spends most of their time there sneering at all the tourists, getting bitchier by the minute. Eventually a caravan of people in garish black and gold XLIII SUPER BOWL CHAMPIONS paraphernalia barge loudly through the gallery and, for reasons unknown, it sets Zach off again:

"Fucking _Yinzers_. Fucking ignorant, uneducated, sports-obsessed—"

" _Zach_ ," Chris hisses, seizing his wrist and leading him away from the little clusters of museum goers. "Dude. You know, LA has sports teams, too."

Zach pinches the bridge of his nose. "Not like this, man." He's really getting worked up over this, over Steelers jerseys and local vernacular.

"Shit, man. It's not a big deal. Seriously. I don't—" Chris laughs. "I really don't get it."

Zach looks at him. There's this crazy modern painting behind him and it makes him look like a work of art too, sharp lines and contrasts. "You grew up in a real city, you know? Pittsburgh's basically just a big town. It's a bunch of hicks living in a concentrated area, and their whole life revolves around whether the Steelers or the Pens win or lose."

"Yeah, well. At least Pittsburgh doesn't have to deal with the Red Sox."

Zach laughs. "Yeah, I guess. But Boston's—better. I dunno." Chris watches him look all forlorn, realizes he's still got a hold of Zach's arm, lets go, lets his fingers trail along Zach's palm. They leave the museum.

*

"Dude, you told that one interviewer you _loooved_ Pittsburgh. I remember. Something about being so at ease when you come home or some shit."

"It's called sucking up, Chris. Ever heard of it? Sucking up to fucking KDKA and their lame ass 'news' coverage. Besides," he adds under his breath, "my mom would've killed me if I shit on her beloved nightly news team."

"Woah, there. Let's just take a minute and calm down." Chris thinks this is equal parts amusing and mildly troubling. "I don't think I've ever heard you swear as much as you do when talking about Pittsburgh—sorry, Fucking Lame-Ass Pittsburgh's the full title right?"

"Damn straight."

There's a beat.

"You were in a fucking good mood that day."

"Yeah, well, the pot helped," Zach quips.

Chris laughs because Zach really is more at ease here, whether he hates the place or not.

*

Zach makes him walk everywhere like it's some kind of message so Chris calls him on it.

"Just trying to get you to lose that gut, bro," Zach says, hand sudden and warm on Chris's stomach. Chris watches Zach's wrist twist from the angle, follows the muscle and tendon up his arm and accidentally meets his eyes while Zach continues to accidentally post-pone removing his hand.

*

Chris is still complaining about all the walking, mainly because it leads to exasperation and snide remarks about his choice in footwear from Zach. Zach drags him into a Starbucks (fingers wrapping around Chris's wrist for a moment).

Zach pays for him, hands him a Pumpkin Spice Latte that goes well with the changing leaves outside, opens the door for him.

"Why so chivalrous?" Chris asks after they cross the street.

"Damn, you found me out—I'm trying to get you all caffeinated up so I can get into your pants."

"Perv."

*

"Why do you even give a shit about Pittsburgh?" Zach asks out of the blue, looking straight ahead.

"I mean, you know, just . . . getting to know you," Chris replies, realizes how sincere it sounds and continues in a sing-song voice: "Getting to know all about you . . ."

Slow smile on Zach. "You're kind of deranged, sometimes."

*

The Cathedral of Learning is pretty echoey, and that's a problem because Zach's chosen this moment to get too close and start kissing him. It's hard to remember they're in the not-so-secluded, reverberating corridor of a vaguely sacred tourist attraction, especially with Zach's weird, distinctive scent—fancy cologne, hair product, his skin—taking the place of Chris's senses.

His mouth is wonderful and his rapid breathing through his nose sounds a little too loud. Chris focuses on Zach's hands fucking up his hair, moving over his face, one going to the small of his back to pull Chris flush against him.

The kiss slows and they separate with a wet, incriminatingly kiss-like noise but Zach doesn't seem to notice, hand sweeping around Chris's body and along his neck to make him shiver. Presses his thumb against Chris's lower lip while Chris stares at Zach's shockingly bruised mouth like a zombie until he finds himself leaning in to taste it again. Zach _mm_ 's softly, opens his mouth for Chris . . .

Footsteps.

Zach pulls away, doesn’t look at him, fingers caught up with Chris's to lead him somewhere.

"Where," Chris begins, jumps at the volume of his voice and continues in a whisper: "are we going?"

"Um, right now? Basically anywhere."

"Awesome."

*

The Starbucks isn't too far.

They sneak by a line of sleepy, cranky Pittsburghers to the bathroom. Chris has a plan of action all figured out in his head—something along the lines of kissing Zach against the door until he forgets his own name, slipping his hands underneath the appetizingly snug T-shirt Zach's been wearing all fucking day, getting him to say 'fuck' or at least Chris's name all breathily and perfect—

"Fuck," Zach says, although it's far from perfect because—"It's fucking locked." He looks at Chris and Chris just looks back dumbly. "Well, don't just stand there, _do_ something." He's hilariously urgent.

"Wha—why me? Why do I have to do something?"

Zach speaks to him patiently: "Because you started this whole thing by wearing your ridiculously tight jeans and _touching_ me all the time and licking your fucking blowjob lips every two seconds."

" _Fine_."

Zach sits down at a table by the bathroom while Chris approaches the barista, pretends he doesn't realize he's cutting in line. The barista isn't impressed.

"Hey, sorry, could I have the bathroom key? I just had like six bottles of water and—"

"That's really, _really_ interesting, _sir_ , but I suggest you add some coffee to that before you ask to use our facilities. Line starts back there." Oh man she is _pissed_. She starts to beckon to the next person in line.

"Yeah, I _know_ , but, I mean I actually did have some Starbucks earlier today, and—"

"Order something, then we'll talk," she says shortly.

Chris sighs. "Okay, okay. Sorry. Can you just get me a, a—" What does Zach always get? "Grande Soy Latte?" He smiles so winningly his face starts to hurt. "Thanks, I really appreciate it."

She glares daggers. "It'll be _right out_ , sir."

He stands awkwardly by the pickup counter while time trickles by as slowly as possible just to spite him. Grabs the stupid drink the second it comes out and the bitch stares pointedly at him as he goes back to Zach. He's pretty sure she'll come over and kick them out if he doesn't consume every last grande drop of this soy shit.

"Hey, genius, you could've just got a _small_ bottle of something and saved about five hours there."

Oh shit—Chris is fucking retarded. In what world would Zach still want to fuck someone as fucking retarded as Chris. God fucking dammit.

Chris rips the lid off the coffee cup, takes a brave, scalding gulp and shoves it urgently to Zach. "Drink up."

It takes a minute for the pain to subside but once it does Chris's taste buds are hopelessly bewildered on top of being burnt. The drink is both oppressively organic and way too sweet and it leaves a _really_ confusing aftertaste. He makes a face.

"Is there even coffee in this?" Chris eyes the cup suspiciously as Zach pushes it back to him, braces himself and downs another mouthful, almost spilling the drink when Zach's expensive shoe nudges his leg.

"Once again," Zach says. "Your fault." He takes another drink, sort of panting to cool his mouth down afterward and Chris is captivated by how moist and pliant his mouth looks, shiny along with his hair and the glimmer of sweat at his temple and the subsequent flash of his teeth . . .

Shoe sliding up and down Chris's calf.

"Drink up, man," Zach grins.

Chris can't look away from him. "Fuck this," he says, getting up and dumping the rest of the drink in the nearest garbage can. He gets the damn bulky-ass key and strides purposefully back to the table, the expression on Zach's face going from vaguely surprised to definitely intrigued. Chris snags Zach by the sleeve of his shirt and drags him into the bathroom.

"I'm not gay," Chris tells Zach preemptively before locking the door and slamming him against it and claiming his mouth.

"Yeah, you kinda are."

"Not officially," Chris clarifies.

Kissing Zach is fucking hot (literally), but it's also dominated by soy and Chris reasons the only course of action is to lick every corner of Zach's mouth until the taste subsides. Zach seems to agree, clutches at him and groans low in his throat.

Zach tries to sneak away but Chris captures his wrists and presses them against cool tiled wall. They grin at each other and Zach tries it again but then something beneath Chris gives way and they stumble sideways.

Chris winds up with the sink digging awkwardly into his back and Zach sort of draped over him. Zach leans back, steadying himself, hands flat against the wall and arms caging Chris in. Chris lets his hands wander.

"Damn, this floor is slippy," Zach says, trying not to shiver.

"Slippy?"

Zach sighs, half exasperation, half in response to Chris's hands on him. "You've never wondered why I so revere grammatical correctness, n'at?"

Chris shrugs, runs his hands idly up Zach's arms, down his chest to pull him closer by his belt. Zach laughs lightly and grins at him, fucking _hot_ dirty light in his eyes.

Zach grinds against him, tilts his head to kiss Chris's neck. Chris moves his hips in tandem, mouths along Zach's jaw wherever he can reach. Zach's body is ridiculously hot, overwhelming and everywhere. More heat rushes through him and he feels lightheaded, lets the press of Zach's hips and the sink keep him upright.

Zach backs off suddenly to grapple with Chris's belt. Oh God this is really happening—Chris's head falls back of its own accord and Zach takes the opportunity to suck on Chris's Adam's Apple and press his hardening cock into Chris's leg, gets his belt undone with a loud jingle and palms Chris through his jeans.

"Shit," Chris breathes, has to watch Zach's hand.

Zach zooms in and kisses him, his tongue fucking _obscene_ in Chris's mouth—Chris reciprocates until he gets Zach to moan.

"Shut up, I'm gonna blow you now," Zach tells him, unbuttons Chris's fly.

Chris stills Zach's hand. "No you're not."

Zach quirks an eyebrow and Chris gives an almighty shove to unbalance him. Chris follows, careful of the floor, hand hard on Zach's shoulder to push him against an empty wall while the other slides up under the aforementioned scandalously tight t-shirt. Zach's eyes close when his back hits the wall.

Chris pulls Zach's shirt over his head, hair springing back into place and eyes springing open, brimming with lust. Chris's breath catches in his throat. Before Zach can stare him to orgasm Chris kisses him, trails his lips haphazardly over skin—neck and shoulder and down to flick Zach's nipple with his tongue.

Zach's brings him up roughly for a kiss and Chris resists a little so he can lick at Zach's neck and feel Zach's fingers tighten in his hair. Zach kisses him like _crazy_.

"Yes I am," Zach says, getting Chris's zipper out of the way quick, dropping to his knees before Chris can even think about responding. "Now hold still, you're so fucking jittery." He gets Chris's boxers out of the way, one hand firm on his hip and the other lightly stroking him. He leans closer, tongue wetting his lips, all flushed face and breath hot and tangible and dark dark eyes _burning_ at him before—

"Two-cups-of-coffee-well-sort-of," Chris says all at once. " _Shit_."

Zach's tongue circles the head of his cock teasingly before he sucks lightly and releases it with a pop. Textbook sultry look up at Chris's and his slackened jaw and Chris has to avert his eyes when Zach's lips close around him again, going deeper this time, but slow. Suck harder, go deeper, repeat until Chris loses his mind.

Chris tries to watch but every time he opens his eyes Zach is staring up at him. On the other hand, when he doesn't look the feeling gets so painfully good he starts making embarrassing noises, so . . .

There's a strand of dark hair jumping around whenever Zach bobs his head so Chris smoothes it back in place, lets his fingers slip into Zach's hair, shaking, urges him deeper and Zach makes a sound low in his throat and does it, goes deep and sucks hard on the upstroke, does it again and again.

Shivery, bright heat courses through Chris's veins, skin, the hairs on the back of his neck. He feels his face flushing impossibly and can't stop himself from hyperventilating. So fucking _good_ , so fucking _close_ —and then Zach licks up the underside of his cock and takes it softly back into his mouth and swirls his tongue perfectly harder and harder, so fucking hot and his blackened eyes locked intently with Chris's—

" _Shit_ ," Chris tries to whisper, strained and broken on his voice, can't help tightening his fingers in Zach's hair when he comes. Luckily Zach doesn't seem to mind, continues sucking until Chris is sure he'll probably never be able to orgasm again.

Zach stands up all at once, looks so insanely fuckable it's enough to jar Chris out of his daze—either that or he's so devastatingly gorgeous it's what finally causes Chris's knees to buckle. In any case, Chris ends up on the floor between Zach and the wall with his hands stumbling over themselves to get Zach's jeans open. Zach's panting, whether it's from arousal or exertion is irrelevant at this point.

Zach's cock, hard and begging and just for him. God, yes.

"My turn," Chris says, takes Zach in his mouth without further ado.

Chris realizes, fuzzily, that his own orgasm is coloring his senses. The taste and the heat on Chris's tongue, Zach's badly stifled moans. Beautiful elements of Zach everywhere he turns, from the proof of how much Chris can turn him on in his mouth to the look of abandon on his face to his restless hips that Chris has to slam back against the wall so he can take Zach deeper, harder. Wants _so much_ to keep Zach in this limbo of unchecked want with him, wants Zach _so much_ . . .

"Oh, God. Oh, God. _Chris_. _Oh God so fucking good Chris_ —" Zach comes with a shudder, biting his reddened, spit slick lower lip, eyes squeezed so so shut.

Chris climbs up Zach's body to kiss him, loves how boneless they are, loves how someone is knocking urgently on the bathroom door now, loves how when he opens his eyes Zach's already looking at him.

*

"I mean, Pittsburgh's not so bad," Zach says as they walk back out onto the street.

"Oh?" Chris glances over and Zach glances back, gentle significance.

"But I can't wait to go back to LA."

*


End file.
